


All Regrets

by NuitNuit (Tasmen)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Anger, Angst, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2577992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasmen/pseuds/NuitNuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A solo thread I did at Warden's Vigil RP where I play Nathaniel Howe dealing with the aftermath of his conscription up until the revelation that his father was truly a monster. Relationship with F!Hawke prior to return to Ferelden referenced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pain radiated from the top of Nathaniel's head to the bottom of his toes. Slowly he opened his eyes and let out a low groan before his hand rose to press against his brow. Where was... Vigil's Keep. The fog of his sleep burned away and a new dawn of realization set in.   
  
Aedan conscripted him. He was a Grey Warden.  
  
Anger tensed his jaw causing the thrum of his headache to intensify. And as if everything hurting was not bad enough, a rancid taste lingered upon his tongue, sending him into a fit of dry heaves that caused him to roll and lean off the edge of the bed. Small favor, he supposed, that the guards had not seen fit to feed him that day else more than air would have dusted the rug beneath the bed.  
  
Nathaniel heaved himself from the bed, step unsteady at first but grew more controlled as he strode across the room to a small basin and mirror. Not seeing any other water within the room, he lifted the pitcher and drank down some of the liquid in hopes of washing away the aftertaste of darkspawn blood.   
  
The water hit his stomach like a stone, stoking a hunger like he had never felt before. He poured some of the water into the basin and placed his hand upon his stomach, fingers vibrating from the growl within. There had been lean days since his return from the Free Marches and even leaner days while in Kirkwall. Nothing compared to the pains clawing his gut now.  
  
Hands dipped into the basin, splashing water upon his face. His reflection was the same. The dream...  
  
 _Within the light of flame the monster’s features became more clear. Gnarled, malformed, the face of a man looked back at him, eyes empty, mouth drawn in sneer. But the nose…_  
  
He looked the same, but there was no doubting, there had been a change within him. Something rotten and twisted ate at him. Aedan saw to that.  
  
A sneer contorted the line of Nathaniel's mouth, rage bringing him to lift the pitcher and toss at the mirror, shattering the fixture into many pieces. Fingers sank into his hair and he squatted upon the ground.   
  
Light spilled into the room as the door opened quickly, drawing Nathaniel back to his feet and his gaze toward the doorway. A guard stood there, one Nathaniel recognized though the man had aged. Henry, he remembered, and Henry did not look happy. "What's going on in here?" the guard asked.  
  
An unamused smile sharpened his expression. Nathaniel had traded the dungeons of below for a slightly more accommodating cell if guards were posted outside his room. "Accident," Nathaniel explained. The rumble in his stomach demanded he say more but Nathaniel's pride won out and he said nothing more.   
  
The guard regarded him for a moment before nodding his head once and shutting the door behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

As the door shut behind Henry, Nathaniel finally took a moment to look about his  _cell_  and discovered just how much it was just that,  _his_. Aedan had placed Nathaniel in his old bedroom, only save a few pieces of furniture like the bed and a small desk, nothing was the same. The pictures upon the walls, the custom rack he used to rest his bows, even the rug made out of his first bear kill, all Nathaniel's possessions were gone. Nothing that made the room personal remained.   
  
Aedan knew. He visited Vigil's Keep as a boy and followed Nathaniel and Fergus to Nathaniel's room many times in the past. The  _hero_  knew exactly what he did when he placed Nathaniel in this room bare of anything that Nathaniel could have marked and called his at one time. Aedan wanted to throw in Nathaniel's face his new circumstance and remind him of his place in things. Vigil's Keep did not belong to the Howes. Rather, Nathaniel's ancestral home now was the property of a pompous prick of a coward.  
  
New fuel fanned the flames of his ire. No irons chained Nathaniel down; he was still chained all the same. He could run and easily escape. No one knew Vigil's Keep better than Nathaniel. He'd only been caught due to his own recklessness. That mistake was learned and would not be repeated. Even if he ran, though, he knew was able to recognize the truth in Aedan's words earlier in the evening:  _your duty will track you down_.  
  
Nathaniel would not run. He would not give Aedan the satisfaction. Duty to avenge his father's death and return honor to his family's name brought him to Amaranthine. Duty to the Grey Wardens  _not_  Aedan Cousland would make him remain. Oaths meant something to Nathaniel and he made one before he drank from the chalice. Aedan claimed Howes were without honor. Nathaniel would show the smug shit just how wrong he was. And if the opportunity arose in the future to let Aedan die, all the better. His oaths were to the order not the man.   
  
He pressed his thumb and finger against the bridge of his nose and let out a calming puff of air, rage lowering to a slow simmer rather than heated burn. If this was to be his new life, Nathaniel would need to make the best he could of his situation and bide his time until opportunity presented itself.  
  
There were many secrets within Vigil's Keep; the majority of which Nathaniel was sure Aedan was not aware of. How could he be? One of those secrets involved secret compartments littered throughout the keep. One such place existed in Nathaniel's room. He walked to the side of the bed and kneeled near the bed. Pushing into a small divet in a floorboard, he released a latch beneath allowing the board to be pushed upward and aside to reveal a small opening in the floor. A quill, ink and journal rested inside, Nathaniel's from when he was a boy.  
  
He took a seat upon the floor and began to flip through the pages and read. The last entry was the day before he was sent away to the Free Marches. Nathaniel could not look back and think of the Free Marches without his mind turning to thoughts of his last night in Kirkwall. He'd come closer than he was comfortable admitting to remaining in Kirkwall. Given his current circumstances, he had to wonder if that would have been such a terrible fate now?   
  
What if? If he had only?   
  
The dull blade of regret twisted in his gut, such trains of thought doing more harm than good. Imagining things that could have been brought no comfort in the present, only a sense of loss. Nathaniel shook the thoughts away as he returned the journal to its secret holding place. The opportunity was there within Josc's eyes, begging him to stay, to start fresh and be free from all the difficulties that awaited him in Ferelden And Maker help him, he had wanted to stay even though there was no way he could. He had not wished to be rid of those difficulties then nor did he now. His duty would not allow him


	3. Chapter 3

Adria was dead.   
  
There had been no choice, he reasoned. No comfort came from such logic.  
  
The door closed behind Nathaniel. His guard was gone, but Nathaniel still very much found himself trapped within a nightmare he knew there would be no awakening from. The others gathered in the dining hall for food and Oghren’s ale. They spoke of brotherhood but were no more brotherly to him than Thomas. Brothers in blood and nothing more.  
  
Anger and confusion tensed his stride and heavied the sigh brushing his lips. The truth of what he had seen, he could deny none nor did he completely understand either. That  _thing_  was not Adria. There was no warmth or recognition within the black of her eyes or pierce of her wail. That husk could not be the same Adria he knew; he loved. Adria who dried a little boy’s tears when he fell from a tree. Adria who always had a smile for Nathaniel. Adria who had been more mother to Nathaniel than his own.   
  
And Aedan put her down as one might kill a rabid dog. Adria, monster or not, deserved better than such a death.   
  
Nathaniel’s armor could not come off fast enough and fell to the ground with a heavy thud as he successfully removed each piece. Her blood, his blood, darkspawn blood, he wished to be freed of it all, to not have it mark his clothing or his skin. He was disgusted with himself and infuriated with Aedan for even putting him in that position in the first place.  
  
The mirror he broke two days prior had yet to be replaced. Just as well. He preferred not to see his own disappointment within his eyes as he cleaned the blood, Adria’s blood, from his face. That man was a stranger, Nathaniel’s sense of self warped beneath Aedan’s boot.   
  
A knock at the door interrupted his washing. A guard stood outside, letters in hand. “Warden-Commander wanted you to have these,” the guardsman told Nathaniel before handing over a weathered stack of correspondence.   
  
He closed the door once more and looked down to the missives. The script was easily identifiable.“Delilah,” he whispered quietly to himself. Was this a ploy? Another of Aedan’s attempts to break Rendon Howe’s eldest. Having him kill the woman he saw as a mother was simply not enough?  
  
Scheme or not, Nathaniel could not resist reading. If there was even a little information about his sister’s fate, no matter the cost, he needed to know. Back pressed against the door, Nathaniel sank to the floor and thumbed through the letters.   
  
No great revelations came. The letters were from Delilah’s friend, Aubrie. She spoke of parties, dresses and possible spouses. Such correspondence would have made Nathaniel roll his eyes and sigh normally. Now? He took the parchment and stuffed the letters into the secret compartment by his bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Aedan found Delilah.   
  
Emotions warred to gain dominance; Nathaniel's hatred for Aedan tempered only by his joy at seeing a sister he thought lost forever. And Maker, she looked good. Healthy. Safe. Alive. He embraced his sister without hesitation, a brief chink in the stoic and bitingly sarcastic armor he'd worn since his conscription.   
  
If this was some scheme of Aedan's... But truly, Nathaniel did not believe such the case. There were times when Aedan almost seemed a friend, almost seemed that same boy Nathaniel remembered from Highever except grown into manhood. In those brief moments, they disregarded the recent past. Nathaniel assumed this one of those times.  
  
Aedan and the others left Nathaniel with Delilah and he returned to her home with her. What he saw, he did not expect. A humble home some might have dubbed quaint or cozy looked dank, small and completely unworthy of a Howe. She lived, but at what cost. What hardships did she suffer since their father's death to put her in such surroundings?  
  
Delilah always could see through Nathaniel. He practiced hiding his emotions at this father's insistence, brick by brick constructing protections around himself to keep those on the outside from looking in. Delilah was always able to see what lurked beneath the facade much as she did as they entered her home. "Nathaniel," she began, the soft curve of her palm pressing against her brother's cheek. "Before you say anything, before you judge or get angry, I am happy."  
  
That seemed an impossibility. How could she be? But there was no mistaking the truth in her words and the warmth of her smile. "I married a man named Albert that used to come to Vigil's Keep to sell his wares. Father was off in Denerim and I had so few friends. Albert was always kind, gentle and all those things we never had growing up. I fell in love with him."   
  
Her hand dropped to find his, fingers lacing within Nathaniel's. With a gentle tug, she guided him further into the house and toward a mismatched set of wooden chairs before the hearth. "Sit," she commanded in a sisterly manner before continuing her story. "When news arrived of father's death, I was overjoyed. Albert took me away from Vigil's Keep that night and we married the next day. I have counted each day since then as a blessing."  
  
“Overjoyed,” he blurted out in disbelief. “You were  _happy_  about father’s murder?” He jerked his hand away from hers, palms pressing into his knees as fingers curved and knuckles whitened. “How could—“  
  
A profound sadness overtook Delilah’s features as she silenced Nathaniel with the press of her finger against his lips. “Nathaniel…” Delilah pulled the other chair closer to Nathaniel’s and took a seat at his side. Her hands sought out his once more. “There are so many things you did not see even before you were sent to the Free Marches. Father was not a good man."

Delilah continued, telling Nathaniel of Rendon’s many crimes during the Blight, of children and mother’s murdered, of people tortured, of how he relished in how easily he manipulated Loghain into action. Each word his sister said was more difficult than the next to absorb and accept.   
  
“I..” Nathaniel’s head hung and he stared down at his sister’s hands. “…I have a hard time believing all that. I can’t think of him that way, Delilah. It was all just politics.” Desperation infused his reasoning. Nathaniel  _needed_  politics to be the reason else what did that say about him? What did that say about all those years he spent trying to impress a man Delilah and others would label evil, a monster?  
  
“Politics does not include killing seven year olds and their mother,” Delilah responded without hesitation. She referred to Oren and Oriana, Fergus’ wife and child. Their murderers were the hardest for Nathaniel to logic away. Fergus was, is, he did not even know anymore, his friend; the closest Nathaniel had growing up. He could not conceive of his father ordering the death of Fergus’ family and yet…  
  
He shook his head. No, she had it all wrong. His world was shaped on the acknowledgment that Father was always right. "He was strict and demanded excellence. I would hardly call that being unkind, Delilah. He simply wanted what was best for us."  
  
A sadness filled her eyes, lips pressing together softly into a pronounced frown. "No, Nathaniel. He wanted what was best for  _him_. We never entered into it. You always did worship him. It made me so sad to watch you interact with him. The harder you tried, the more cruel he became. Do you know why he sent you to the Free Marches?"   
  
His head dipped, his response quiet and hoarse. "He found me... I disappointed him. I was too weak."  
  
Delilah raised her hands to cup her brother's face, "Oh Nathaniel. No, it was not because you were too weak. It was because you were, you  _are_  too strong. You are a good man and nothing Father tried could change that. He saw you as a lost cause, and as you could be of no immediate use to him, he sent you away. He would have done the same to me if he had not seen me as a commodity to trade for profit in some marriage. After you left, Father began to indulge some of his darker desires. He took pleasure in the unspeakable. He told his men before the attack at Castle Cousland they might claim any prize found in the Castle. No woman or thing was beyond touch, Nathaniel. The usual rules of warfare and nobility did not apply." Her head lowered, her voice dropping to barely a whisper, "I will always carry with me the guilt of what I allowed to happen. If I had simply written a letter…"  
  
Nathaniel's hands mirrored that of his sister's upon him, rising to cup her face. "It is not your fault, Delilah. It is mine. I should have been here. If I had been a better son, I could have changed things."  
  
Her eyes closed, heading shaking lightly. "You could have changed nothing. Do not put the weight of all that happened on yourself."  
  
It was too much. To hear this from the lips of another would have been a lie. To hear it from the mouth of his sister? There was no denial loud enough to drown out the truth in her words. "It is a lot to absorb, Delilah. I… It is hard for me to believe still. I have this picture of him in my head and I cannot reconcile it with what you are telling me."  
  
Delilah shifted her hands from Nathaniel' face to his wrists, drawing his hands from her face and back to his knees. "You are my brother and I love you, Nathaniel. But Father truly deserved what happened to him. If Aedan had not killed him, I am sure someone else would have. I might have even done it if I had been given a good opportunity. He was a very evil man that brought great dishonor to our family. We've both been given a second chance to live from outside of his shadow, Nathaniel. I have my Albert and you have the wardens. We can make our lives what we wish and not what he desired. We are no longer pawns. You are your own man. You are a  _good_  man. Please do not waste this opportunity. Father is not worth your loyalty for he gave us none."   
  
"Of course," he replied, numb. He did not know what to say, or what could be said. Each thought passing through his mind only added to his confusion. Truth and lies reversed. So many things he thought certain, that molded the very purpose for his return to Ferelden, were founded within a truth that did not exist except in his imagination if all Delilah said was true. And it had to be true. His sister would not lie, not about this.  
  
"I've made such a terrible mistake," he uttered.


	5. Chapter 5

Nathaniel had made a terrible mistake.   
  
He returned to Ferelden on the wings of a lie. And now? He was a Grey Warden because of those lies and sentenced to a death in degrees if he was lucky or death in battle if less so. He would not deny the importance of the Grey Wardens. Not now, not after all he saw during his time with Aedan around Amaranthine. Still, there was no lessening of his anger; only the focus of that ire changed. This was the price of Nathaniel’s blind obedience to a father that turned out to be more monster than man.  
  
Aedan told him the night that he conscripted Nathaniel someday he would understand how wrong he was. That day finally arrived.  
  
His gaze panned down, staring at his sister’s hands upon his. “Delilah, I came here to kill Aedan,”he admitted. “I probably would have succeeded if I had not gotten distracted by mother’s locket.”He tugged a hand away from his sister and dug into a pocket. A gold locket suspended upon a gold chain came into view, dangling from his fingertips. He carried that locket with him since the day of his conscription as a reminder of whom he was and where he came from. Nathaniel was a Howe and the actions of his father did little to change that.  
  
Delilah took the necklace from her brother, letting the chain dangle over the curve of her fingers as she rested the locket upon her palm. “Where did you find this?”  
  
“Mother’s old room hidden in her vanity. Those few things of ours I’ve found have, for the most part, been things hidden away.” A wry smile tugged at his mouth, “Save the picture of mother. For some reason Aedan lets that still hang in the throne room.” Their father took from the Couslands and now the Couslands took from the Howes in return. There were a few items Aedan found he gifted back to Nathaniel, such as the bow upon his back. For the most part, though, there was little sign the Howes ever resided at Vigil's Keep. Aedan could not scorch the earth but he could clean out the keep and did so.  
  
Bitterness crept in all too comfortably like a threadbare shirt that should no longer be worn. “I am happy to see you and that you are alright, but I wish I had not returned to Ferelden.” The confession was not an easy one to make. The window was a brief one for him, but like Delilah, Nathaniel had an opportunity at freedom. Unlike his sister, he did not jump at that chance.   
  
Not the life he would ever imagined for himself as a child, Nathaniel was starting to form some semblance of a life in Kirkwall before he left to return to Ferelden. He might have been happy if he stayed. “I met someone in Kirkwall.” He moistened his lips. “I think….” He shook his head, “No.. I know there was something there." None of that mattered now, though. Looking back did not change the past no matter the effort or desire.   
  
"Oh Nathaniel." Delilah rose and moved behind her brother, wrapping her arms about him. Such affection was not something he felt in some time and he flinched at first only to relax a moment later at the warmth of his sister's embrace. "Some day you will marry and have a family like Albert and me." A family? He turned his head, a question within his eyes. "I am due in the summer," she explained, her sadness traded for happiness.  
  
There was no such happiness ahead for him. No wife. No family. Aedan saw to that. He said none of those things to Delilah and instead forced a smile for her and voiced quietly, "Perhaps."


End file.
